


A Cold Glass of Whiskey and Two Sets of Cold Sheets

by StatisticallyCorrupt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Angel Castiel, M/M, drunk!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StatisticallyCorrupt/pseuds/StatisticallyCorrupt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets drunk and falls asleep naked, and when Cas crawls into his bed to get warmer, things get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cold Glass of Whiskey and Two Sets of Cold Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a week before Christmas and just now finished it, and I apologize for that matter profusely. I have only finished part one so far; I will post part two when I finish writing the smut that you get to look forward to (and I'm sorry for that too). 
> 
> Anyway, this is set around this time, after Christmas and perhaps early January. Enjoy (so far).

It's fuckin' cold, but Dean's burning up. 

It may or may not have something to do with Sammy spiking their leftover eggnog again, or the three tumblers of Jack Daniel's he had after that, but his limbs are liquid now, his whole body molten lava, and he's isolated himself in his room for the express purpose of avoiding Cas and any and all possibility of uninhibited flirting. 

Also, Sam still hasn't taken down the damn mistletoe, and Cas is starting to get concerned with his behavior, what with Dean dodging him every time they happen to meet beneath the damn things. 

It's late but not before midnight when Dean can't take staring up at his ceiling and listening to Led Zeppelin anymore, can't take the heat curling beneath his skin that isn't just the alcohol anymore. 

He strips, tripping out of his sweatpants and practically falling onto his bed. Dean pauses only to kick his sheets down to the foot of the bed before he's letting his hands sweep down over his stomach and lower, working away some of the heat. He can't even be bothered to try to keep thoughts of Cas out of his head, caring only to keep the moans of the fallen angel's name in his head, unheard. 

Later - how much, Dean doesn't know or care - he picks up a ratty t-shirt from the floor and wipes off his stomach, throwing it back on the floor and tugging his blankets up as the chill starts to cut through his blissed-out state, cooling the beads of sweat across his forehead and chest. He's still hot, though, too hot to bother putting clothes back on, so he just tucks the blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes and rides the high. 

 

It's surprisingly cold, and Castiel can't get warm enough to fall asleep. 

Despite the five blankets on top of his coverlet and the three layers of clothes he has on, Castiel's shivering so hard his teeth chatter and he nearly bites his tongue off. Being cold is not necessarily a new sensation, one he experienced when he was wandering the streets, but this bone-deep chill is beginning to become unbearable. 

His clock says 12:04 a.m. when it occurs to him to crawl into Dean's bed, but the second it does Castiel is slipping out from beneath the covers. He takes the first few blankets along with him and pads out on triple-socked feet into the hallway, slipping a little on the hardwood floor as he goes. He bypasses Sam's doorway, the light still on despite the late hour, and pauses in front of Dean's room, listening for any sound. It's quiet, nothing besides Dean's measured breathing.

Castiel opens the door as quietly as he can, not bothering with the light even though it's pitch black and he can barely make out Dean's shape beneath the covers. He clamps his jaw shut so his teeth won't chatter and walks up to Dean's bedside, barely daring a whisper through his teeth. "Dean?" 

He doesn't stir, doesn't make a sound; he's asleep. Good. 

After a second of inner debate, Castiel drops the blankets around his shoulders on the floor. They hit with a soft thump, but still Dean doesn't move. 

Carefully, Castiel peels back the very edge of Dean's covers, just enough to slide under without exposing Dean to the chilly air. Slowly, despite the way his hands shake, Castiel puts first one knee and then both on the bed. Dispersing his weight as evenly as he can, he tries to get horizontal, tucking himself beneath the covers. 

Already it is warmer. Dean is not the "furnace" that Sam is, but his bed is significantly warmer than Castiel's and he is shivering less in just a few seconds. 

It is only when he inches closer to that warmth that he realizes Dean is completely and utterly naked under the covers. 

Castiel freezes, knuckles grazing Dean's bare hip, and briefly considers going back to his own room. But Dean's so warm, and it's not much of a question at all. He will stay - although he prays to his father above that Dean does not wake as he burrows closer still, slanting his body so that he's at an angle to Dean and not pressing up against him directly. He still does not completely understand Dean's concept of personal space - all the fledglings in his garrison shared nests - but he knows that Dean would not be entirely comfortable with direct contact, especially in his current state.

And he's inebriated, Castiel realizes, as Dean's breath ghosts over him, smelling distinctly of whiskey. 

Castiel is too busy breathing in the sweet, intoxicating scent to notice Dean's breathing changing, growing lighter and faster. Then he lets out a long sigh, arms coming up to circle Castiel's torso and hold him against Dean's chest. "Mmm, you cold, Cas?" 

Castiel can only nod, staring up at Dean, analyzing his face. He's talking without opening his eyes, not fully awake, but he's coherent enough, and Castiel is afraid he'll be reprimanded for climbing in Dean's bed without permission. 

However, he tugs Castiel against him, near flush to his hip, and Castiel cannot stop the human reaction to blush. "I can tell. You're shaking th'whole bed, shiverin' s'hard." 

Castiel frowns. "I'm sorry, Dean. I just thought I would warm up faster if I could share body heat with you. I'll try not to shiver so much." 

Dean is silent for a long time, so long Castiel thinks he has fallen asleep again, so long Castiel can nearly straighten his fingers and toes without the pins and needles. But he proves Castiel wrong by tucking his nose in Castiel's hair, speaking into the dark curls. 

"It would be easier to share body heat if you took your clothes off." 

Dean's voice is low, rough but warm, and this time when Castiel shivers it's not from the cold. 

He clears his throat. "Are you sure about that, Dean?" 

Dean chuckles, his hands sweeping from Castiel's shoulder blades down to the bottom of his spine, where he grips the hem of his sweater and edges it up. "Shut up 'nd strip, Cas," 

It's barely a breath before Dean has tugged his sweater up over his head, his long-sleeved tee and undershirt coming off at the same time, and then Dean's hands are moving down to the ties on his sweatpants and Castiel cannot seem to breathe. He can't get enough air in his frozen lungs because Dean's warm, scarred hands are pushing his sweatpants and his borrowed boxers down past his thighs. Castiel's too-big socks slip off as he kicks free of the fabric and suddenly he's naked too, all of his skin bared entirely to Dean and all of Dean's skin bared entirely to him - 

Yet Dean just wraps his arms around Castiel again, holds him close, running his hands up and down Castiel's sides slowly, and falls asleep again, this time soundly and without a hitch. 

Castiel puts all thoughts of the vast expanse of Dean's skin out of his mind and focuses only on the warmth radiating from the hunter. He's right, though; it is far easier for Castiel to absorb that heat without the layers of clothes between them hindering the heat from reaching him. 

He sinks slowly into sleep with the steady feeling of Dean's heartbeat at his cheek. 

 

It's warm, and Dean's confused, because his whole bed is warm, not just Dean. His sheets are nice and cozy and Dean doesn't want to move; he knows it's too early to get up, probably only two in the morning, if that. He yawns, stretching automatically- 

But his left side's pinned, and the soft sigh that ghosts over his chest clues him in to the other person in his bed. Dean doesn't move more than to settle back in his previous position, schooling his breathing, trying to think through the previous night without opening his eyes. Did he go somewhere, pick a girl up? He never would have brought someone he'd just met back to the bunker, though... 

A sudden thought occurs to him, and Dean can't help sucking in a sharp breath. Slowly he slides his left arm up, fingertips stroking over bare skin, and - fuck, Dean knows that messy hair, it's Cas' messy hair and Cas' scruff against his chest now, and Dean's naked and Cas might be - 

Dean dares to open his eyes, biting his lip at the dimly lit sight of Cas curled close to his side, the very tips of his ears and nose just visible over the edge of Dean's blankets. Hesitantly, he grabs the edge of the covers and lifts, peeking with one eye...

Shit, that's Cas' bare back, sloping down to the curve of his bare ass, and Dean wants to stare so badly but he drops the blankets like they're on fire. 

The motion is apparently enough to wake the fallen angel. He stirs, tipping his head back to blink up at Dean like a tired cat, and Dean really can't take that intense, piercing blue right now. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and forefinger. 

"Dean?" Cas' voice is barely a whisper. "Dean, is something wrong?"

Dean swallows hard, shaking his head quickly. "No, but um - Cas, why are you in my bed? Why are you naked? I mean I know why I'm naked but - did we - what did we - why - " 

Cas laughs, actually laughs, and that's what stops Dean's blubbering. "You're asking if we had intercourse?" 

Dean coughs so hard Cas actually has to lean away from him, and Dean's only thought is that he wants the contact back, and it scares him. "Sex, Cas, sex. But yeah, did we - did you and I - ?" 

A small smile works its way onto the fallen angel's face as he settles back against Dean's chest. "No. I was cold and thought that logically it would be faster to warm up if I shared body heat with you." That sounds like Cas. "However, you were intoxicated and insisted that I would warm up easier if I were not clothed, and proceeded to remove my clothing for me." 

Dean lets his head fall back against the pillow, sighing. That sounds like him. 

"So no, we did not have sex," Cas continues. "Though I would not have minded if we had," 

He looks down at Cas so fast he nearly gets whiplash, he's so shocked. "Did you just - Cas, did you just say you wanted to fuck me?" 

Nonchalant as ever, Cas shrugs. "If you would prefer the penetrative role, I would be happy to take you, considering your past experiences with females... I apologize that my vessel - that I, now - am male," 

Dean shakes his head again, arms tightening around Cas automatically. "No. I mean, no, don't apolgize. Your vessel - you - are seriously hot, okay? Dude and all. Yes to what you were saying before that - except I'd be more than willing to let you top. I'd be too afraid that I'd hurt you." /After everything, that's the last thing I want to do./ 

Cas' brows furrow as he squints up at Dean, and it throws him back all those years ago to that barn in Illinois, the first time he saw the wild-haired angel. "What if I hurt you, Dean?" 

"No, Cas. You won't. I trust you." Those blue eyes soften a bit, the line of his mouth filling out, and it hits Dean that they're going about everything backwards and sideways. "Before that, though, why don't we try something a little simpler?" 

The fallen angel's lips turn down in a frown of confusion. "What do you suggest? Oral pleasure?" 

Dean has to repress a shiver at that, nearly forcing out his chuckle. "Of a sort. Just. Be quiet and close your eyes." 

Cas simply stares at Dean for a moment in that frustrating way of his, but then he closes his eyes. He doesn't move when Dean's fingers come up to card through his hair, brushing the wild mess of curls back from his forehead, but Cas tilts his head back into the touch when Dean settles his left hand at the nape of Cas' neck. He withdraws his right hand in order to cup Cas' face in his palm, thumb sweeping over the sharp jut of his cheekbone before dropping to trace the lightest of paths over his mouth, lips parting at the touch and his tongue darting out to wet them. 

Dean's breath hitches as he glances back up. Cas is staring at him again, awareness coloring his cheeks. "Close your eyes," Dean whipsers, smiling softly, and then he shoves aside his hesitancy and pulls Cas to him. 

When their lips meet for the very first time, somehow it is not a meeting but a reunion. It is injected with all the heat and need of all the past touches, grazed fingertips and hesitant hugs, and instantly that spark is lit at the base of Dean's spine and he's gone. He is lost, lost in the persistent crush of Cas' mouth on his as they roll together, lost in the endless planes of Cas' skin against his, lost in the feeling of finally being free. 

But Castiel is found. He is caught up in the way that Dean's arms find their way around him even as they press together, caught up in the soft sounds edging past his lips and hovering on his tongue, caught up in the simple act of being so close and personal with Dean.


End file.
